Windstorm
by Famirad
Summary: A year and a half after the rising of Soltis, Domingo finds himself once again struck with wanderlust. A supposedly harmless visit to Crescent Isle results in an unwilling helmsman assigned to journey with him.
1. Prologue

**Windstorm**   
By Famira Damaris 

**Disclaime**r: Nope, don't own Skies of Arcadia.   
**Author's Note**: I suddenly got an urge to write a Skies of Arcadia fanfic – blame the wonderful Anne Felis for that. ^_- *bows down* Anyway, I'll keep this short. This isn't a fanfic devoted to Vyse, Aika or Fina. It's probably one of the few (only?) based on Domingo. ^^ Anyway, possible shounen-ai later. Takes place about a year and half after the events of the game – I'm assuming that the world of Skies of Arcadia is much bigger than portrayed, so…er...new lands. ^^ . Centered around Domingo and Lawrence. *cackles* 

_Italics_ for thoughts, sounds, emphasis   
**Archive**: I highly doubt anyone would ask, but sure, go ahead. Just ask. 

**Description**: A year and a half after the rising of Soltis, Domingo finds himself once again struck with wanderlust. A supposedly harmless visit to Crescent Isle results in an unwilling helmsman assigned to journey with him. Adventures seem to have a habit of growing out of proportion…(Potential shounen-ai) 

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Windstorm   
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[Prologue] 

The problem with the world was that it had gotten boring as of lately. No new rumors. No excitement. Nothing. As far as he knew, most of the sights to see had already been discovered, logged, and put away. Which was also part of the problem; it was just another reminder that most of those Discoveries listed in the books _hadn't_ been made by him and him alone. Oh no, maybe several were labeled as being found by "Domingo", but the rest were under a different name. The frustration alone from being "upped" was positively irking. It was all terribly unfair. And boring. 

In fact, he hadn't discovered anything new since the rising of Soltis. After _that_ whole affair, everything had suddenly gotten a whole lot less exciting. His failed attempt at opening a trading business was one example; a lack of interest in it had seen to its closure. It was definitely boring these days. Boring _and_ peaceful. 

"You _really_ need to get off your butt and do something, Domingo." 

Domingo only stared with a ruffled air at the cool mug he was cradling in his gloved hands. His audience was entirely unsympathetic: whatever sympathy she'd had previously had long died off after his little tirade. In fact, the young man was well aware that he'd overstayed his welcome but he made no attempts to leave, despite the fact that whatever he was complaining about now was probably going in one ear and out the other. Most people tended to do that when he went into a full scale rant – hell, he recognized that slightly annoyed, glazed look. The very same expression which happened to be on Polly's face as she worked behind the worn counter of her tavern's bar. 

"I mean it too," the buxom woman continued, running a damp gray rag over the oak surface. "If you're so bored, then why the hell are you sitting here and getting drunk off your rocker?" 

"I'm not drunk," Domingo muttered. He rarely got drunk and he thought he'd been able to tell if he was. _You can't exactly get drunk on half a glass of loqua_, he reflected dryly. In fact, he hadn't even finished the mug he'd ordered, so he doubted he was hammered. Domingo had a higher tolerance than that. And it wasn't like he was disturbing anyone – the room was alive with conversation as sailors and merchants intermingled. They didn't notice him, or anything he was saying. "I don't get drunk." 

"I wouldn't be so sure about that." 

"Whatever," the raven-haired explorer grunted. 

Polly scrubbed at a particularly stubborn smudge on the old wood. "Shouldn't you be out _doing_ something? I'm sure you've better things than just hanging around here all day." 

"Maybe I like the food." 

"Normally I'd take that as a compliment, but this is starting to get ridiculous. And it sure isn't my good looks that you're here for, so don't use _that_ sorry excuse," Polly said, unimpressed. Domingo closed his mouth and swallowed his retort, slightly taken aback that he was so wide open. She leaned forward as her freckled daughter ducked behind the counter, deftly balancing a plate of baked Sky Sardis in one hand and a tray of varied drinks in the other. Polly turned her attention on Domingo as Anne scurried to the waiting customers. "You're young, kid. You shouldn't be sitting out here wasting the day away." 

Domingo said nothing, his lips turned down a boyish frown. Round and round went the half-empty mug, sliding in a lazy circle from one palm to the other as he glared at the loqua, as if doing so would solve all his problems. It wasn't like there was a whole lot to do these days and he failed to see what was so wrong about hanging around at Polly's tavern during his free time (of which he seemed to have a lot of). In fact, thinking about it, he'd been frequenting the place for several weeks, nonstop. _Moons, maybe this _is_ getting a bit out of hand._ But there was still the principle and the stubborn, almost sulky expression remained. 

"I'm not wasting it away." 

"You're moping it away then. Same thing." 

Domingo made a sour face at this remark. There was certainly truth in what Polly was saying, but what was he supposed to do? His life had been devoted to exploring new areas, running around and making the discoveries that made him famous. But now he was stuck twiddling his fingers, bored out of his mind and, for lack of anything better to do, sorely tempted to bang his head with frustration into the thick counter. As far as he knew, there was simply nothing more to explore out there – in fact, a certain Blue Rogue had seen to that. Domingo glowered away at his glass of mur loqua. Across from him, Polly was regarding him with an expression that was more disgust than sympathy, her large lips pursed in disapproval. 

"It's the same thing, day after day. You can't keep doing this," Polly planted her hands on her wide hips, frowning at the young man sitting across from her. "It isn't good for you, sitting around here all the time and doing nothing. All you do is complain to me about 'the old days', how you did _this_ or _that_ or whatever. To be blunt, it's starting to get a little old." 

Next to him, one of Polly's regulars let out a bark of laughter. She'd been listening in on this latest turn of the conversation for several minutes, although she hadn't seen any reason to butt in until now. The blond sailor grinned at Domingo. 

"Sorry, Domingo, but I'd have to agree. It was funny for a little while but now it's just pathetic." 

Domingo deigned not to reply, his dark eyes fixed sullenly on his glass. The blonde regular eyed him, and, after a chuckle, spoke over his head to Polly, her voice raised. "Y'know, Polly, I remembered that there used to be this amazing guy way back when…" 

Domingo only rolled his eyes at this remark. The dark-haired man had an idea where _this_ conversation was going and he didn't really want to hear it. Not now. It was rather hard to sulk properly when they began to resort to these tactics. _What's the point? Why can't they just leave me alone?_ But they rarely left him alone to feel sorry for himself. If Polly wasn't smacking some sense into Domingo (he had been chased out with a frying pan once), then it was Amelia who was embarrassing him into beating a hasty retreat. 

Polly caught the other woman's crafty wink and returned it: 

"…Yeah, I remember him. Tall…handsome…great fashion sense. Hard to forget him, huh?" 

"Oh, yeah, I'd have to agree. Hard not to jump a catch like that." 

Domingo almost choked as he took another sip from the mur loqua. Futilely, the treasure hunter tried to keep his sputtering to a minimum, still studiously avoiding the gazes of the two women standing nearby. This was even more forward (and awkward) than usual. Sheesh, women wanted to jump _him_? That was almost daunting, but he managed to keep his face straight as he found a sudden interest in his drink. Polly and Amelia continued their assault as they exchanged grins over his bowed head. 

"You'd always hear about him, even way out in Maramba. Helluva a treasure hunter." 

Polly laughed. "You're telling me. The guild-master next door was always coming over and boasting about him. Y'know, he found the Guidestones near here. At least that's what I heard." 

"Oh, that was _him_?" Amelia feigned astonishment. "…I wonder where he went. I don't think a guy like him would just settle down somewhere, not with the world just waiting to be explored." 

"Maybe he's wandering around some unknown part of Arcadia right now…" 

Domingo knew that a muscle near his eye was starting to tick in mild irritation. They didn't _have_ to rub it in. His annoyance was growing even further as Amelia raised her voice even more, the blonde glancing as several merchants from Nasrad stepped across the crowded threshold. Those sitting close by were starting to listen in on the conversation. 

"…Probably. He ain't the loser type. I know he wouldn't be satisfied to just sit on his sorry ass –" 

"I get the damn point already!" Domingo exploded. 

The room abruptly fell silent at his bellow and he was suddenly aware that he had a good number of curious eyes on him. His cheeks flushing red, he lowered himself back into his bar stool, the silence deafening as he glared with all his might at a spot past Amelia's head. The flaxen-haired sailor only continued to grin infuriatingly at him as the room slowly became a buzz with conversation again. Polly went back to innocently washing a pair of mugs out as Domingo tried to force his blush down. 

"If you 'get' it, then what the hell are you moping around here for?" Amelia asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Domingo scowled, reaching up and brushing a loose strand of black hair from his eyes. He knew they meant well, but that didn't mean he had to like it. And he said as much. Polly hung up the now cleaned mugs on the rack behind her, as if she wasn't listening; an amused glance at the young man seated before her. 

"It's for your own good, kid: you're not supposed to like it. You can't sit around here all day and sulk. Not in my place." 

"Horrible impression to make on the ladies," Amelia added, and then corrected herself, waggling her eyebrows mischievously; "Or should I say men?" 

"Shut up." Domingo grunted. 

Amelia wouldn't shut up: instead, the tanned woman leaned against the bar's counter and plucked the nearly empty loqua glass from his hands, ignoring his indignant protest. "But I agree with Polly here. You used to be fun to hang out with but all you do now is bitch about what you used to do, how bored you are these days. If you're so bored, then go _do_ something about it." 

"You don't – " 

Polly cut him off. "Yes, you should definitely go do something productive. And I don't want you to chase out my customers with your 'in my day' tales. I swear, you're a bad influence." 

"I am _not_! I –" 

" – You're sitting here and sulking, that's what." Amelia picked up their joint scolding as she handed the glass to the auburn-headed owner of the tavern. "It's sad. I wouldn't be surprised if all the Moons were laughing at you. I know I am." 

"So –" 

Polly shot Domingo a stern Look. "Maybe you should just sit quiet and _listen_ to us for a moment, kid. What happened to that driving urge to see what everyone else hasn't, to be the first to discover all that there was to discover?" 

_Vyse beat me to it_, Domingo thought sourly. _Hard to discover something that's already been found._

"And don't give me that crap about Vyse beating you to it," Polly went on, as if she'd read his sullen train of thought. The rag shook at him like she was scolding a young child. "There's a whole lot that I'm sure Vyse _hasn't_ seen. That no one has seen. Just because Vyse discovered a lot of new things doesn't mean that you should sit here and whine about it." Her tone lightened as she got the desired effect: Domingo was coming as close as possible to hanging his head sheepishly. "Come on, think about it: no one's seen all there is to see of Arcadia. That should make you feel even more motivated." 

"In fact, I'm sure there's new areas that no one's explored yet," Amelia drawled thoughtfully. "Those new Blue Stone engines are enabling us to reach new heights. I'm sure even the notorious Captain Vyse hasn't been everywhere." 

"Well…" Domingo trailed off. 

What they were saying did have some truth in them. Vyse couldn't have possibly seen all of the world yet. And since he'd returned the Delphinus to its rightful owner, he was probably even more limited to where he could travel. _But you don't know that for certain_, nagged the party pooper in the back of his head. In fact, it was telling him, it seemed like a better idea to just sit here and blow off the effort of traveling around all together. If he was to start exploring again, he'd have to completely re-haul his ship and the bill for _that_ would probably be staggering… 

With chagrin, he realized that Polly was still talking, now with a sense of finality. "…In fact, I think what you need is to go out sailing. It'll be good for you. They say sailing's good for the blood." 

Domingo blinked through his long bangs. "And since when were you my mother?" 

"As of now," Polly replied smartly. Behind her, a wiry, chestnut-haired man was sneaking up behind her. The busty woman didn't even turn around as she quirked an eyebrow. "Scare me and I'll have you scrubbing dishes for a week, Robinson." 

Her husband spat a mild curse at being so easily detected, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. Domingo could only marvel at how the former sailor had changed over the length of a year, and then some. Dressed in something other than rags, Robinson actually cut a respectable figure – currently he was donning a long apron that stretched from his neck to his knees. _Well, he looks completely different without that bushy beard._ Robinson had looked like a wild madman when Vyse had rescued him from the Dark Rift that day and it never failed to surprise Domingo to see how he'd changed since then. Coming up behind Polly, Robinson hugged her from behind, resting his forehead against his wife's back. 

"Can't blame me for trying." 

Polly smiled. "True. Tell Domingo here that he needs to get some fresh air and do something worthwhile." 

Robinson glanced over his wife's shoulder, eyeing the pony-tailed treasure hunter. Robinson tended to keep to himself and he wasn't as familiar with the tavern's customers as Polly was. But he recognized Domingo as that lookout that he'd seen occasionally on the Delphinus. "Well...er…I don't know. Maybe sailing isn't everything – sometimes it's better to play it safe." 

"You're supposed to _agree_ with me, Robinson, not give him all these ideas that being a homebody is a good thing," Polly sighed good-naturedly. Her tall husband only shrugged. 

"At least someone agrees with me," Domingo huffed. And then belatedly realized his mistake as Polly rounded on him. 

"Robinson has a right to be a homebody, but _you_ don't!" A sudden sly smile. "In fact, if you're not going to go out on your own, I'm forcing you to. I don't tolerate adults who act like babies. As of today, I'm kicking you out of my tavern." 

Domingo stared incredulously. "You wouldn't." 

"Sounds like she's serious!" Amelia crowed from the side. The female sailor was obviously enjoying herself. 

"I'm not going anywhere." 

Polly wasn't the least bit fazed, smiling sweetly at the stubborn young man seated at the counter. "You _are_. You can't come back here until you get that adventurous spirit of yours back." Domingo started to protest and she turned to her husband, with that same innocent expression on her face. "Robinson, could you get me a frying pan?" 

Domingo suddenly remembered he had errands he had to run then. 

To be continued...   
>>>> 

*bows and scrapes* Wah, wah! It's only the prologue! Don't get scared off! xX; No shounen-ai just yet, but it's coming. ^_^; Anyway, my first attempt at a Skies of Arcadia fic. Next chapter is a "trip" to Crescent Isle and the meeting between Lawrence and Domingo. *sweatdrops* 

- Famira Damaris/Camille Vidan   



	2. Smooth Sailing

**Windstorm**   
By Famira Damaris 

**Disclaime**r: Nope, don't own Skies of Arcadia.   
**Author's Note**: Anyway, I'll keep this short. This isn't a fanfic devoted to Vyse, Aika or Fina. It's probably one of the few (only?) based on Domingo. ^^ Anyway, possible shounen-ai later. Takes place about a year and half after the events of the game – I'm assuming that the world of Skies of Arcadia is much bigger than portrayed, so…er...new lands. ^^ . Centered around Domingo and Lawrence. *cackles*  


Uh...yeah, this update is super late. Don't really have an excuse for that other than a lot of stuff came up? Anyway, things to look out for: cranky Domingo, and the assignment of Lawrence. ...and I just realized that his assignment clashes with his description in the summary. Oh well. x_o;  


_Italics_ for thoughts, sounds, emphasis   
**Archive**: I highly doubt anyone would ask, but sure, go ahead. Just ask. 

**Description**: A year and a half after the rising of Soltis, Domingo finds himself once again struck with wanderlust. A supposedly harmless visit to Crescent Isle results in an unwilling helmsman assigned to journey with him. Adventures seem to have a habit of growing out of proportion…(Potential shounen-ai) 

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Windstorm   
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[Smooth Sailing]

That had been a week ago. It didn't change the fact that he was still rankling about the whole thing, but it had given him enough time to cool down. He'd ended up using a considerable amount of gold to get his small ship in working order – it'd been sitting in the harbor for quite some time – and half of the rest had gone to supplies. The explorer wasn't at all sure how long he'd be out traveling like this, but it couldn't help to be careful. People called him nuts sometimes (he was told that he had a bizarre sense of logic), but he always shrugged it off. There was a world of different between being nuts and just being plain reckless. 

At first he hadn't a particular destination in mind and for a few days he had drifted aimlessly. Around the end of the week, he decided that there was only so much one could accomplish just wandering around like that and decided that wherever the prow of the _Damascus_ was facing currently would be his set direction. He was still traveling northeast. 

_I should probably be nearing Nasr by now_, Domingo decided, glancing down at the compass and the yellowed map spread out at his side across the panel. The _Damascus_ was a small ship and he was comfortable piloting it by himself – it was a few feet smaller than the famous _Little Jack_ and wasn't nearly as old. Still, the fact that he was the only one onboard reminded him just how boring this could quickly get. The treasure-hunter stifled a yawn. Even the monster encounters were rare these days. Staring straight ahead, he could make out the orange hued rock formations of the South Dannel Strait – the wind was in his favor today and he estimated that he'd reach Nasrad in an hour. Keeping his hands on the wheel, Domingo concentrated on keeping the ship on course. 

It wasn't long before one of the ships patrolling the canyon-like Strait hailed him. Coming out onto the wooden deck, Domingo shaded his eyes with one hand as the larger ship pulled alongside his. He was a little surprised that they were still guarding the Straits (both North and South this time), but he reasoned that it was probably to keep the monsters out rather than human threats. He leaned across the railing of the _Damascus_ as two burly men came out onto the other ship's deck, one shouldering a massive hand-held cannon. Domingo noted with dismay that it was an anti-ship model. The larger of the pair shouted aggressively across the expanse of air between the two ships.

"Where're you from, stranger?"

Domingo shouted back, his voice carrying over the whistling wind. "Sailors' Island. This is the _Damascus_."

The two men exchanged looks, and then the shorter of the two called across the gap.

"What goods are you carrying?" 

Domingo was puzzled. Goods? He wasn't carrying anything and he wasn't sure why they'd be questioning him like this. Well, he might as well satisfy their curiosity. _I'm pretty sure I don't have anything to hide._ Gripping the wooden railing, the treasure hunter bellowed across the expanse:

"Well, besides myself, just some cargo. Food supplies."

"Are you carrying any livestock?"

"No."  
  
There was a moment of long deliberation as the two patrolmen turned and discussed the matter between themselves. Domingo only raised an eyebrow at this – were they going to actually board his ship? He'd never been boarded before and he hoped that he hadn't left anything questionable from the last time he'd went wandering around. _It's not like I'm some black market dealer._ Still, he was a little nervous that they were taking so long to decide their next course of action. Finally, the bearded one leaned across their deck and shouted across, "What did you say your ship was called?"

"The _Damascus_."

Another muted conversation before the self-appointed speaker turned back to him, his beard bristling with hostility. "There's a sandstorm coming from across the stone reefs. We suggest that you conclude your business here as quickly as possible before it sweeps through the area."  
  
Domingo's bewilderment only increased. It certainly sounded like just a normal, cordial warning, but he was picking up the hidden threat. If anything, they wanted him gone as soon as possible and he hadn't the slightest clue why this was. As he made his way across the deck and headed back toward the cabin, the slender man glanced over his shoulder. The Nasr patrol-ship was pulling away from the smaller _Damascus_, the air thrumming as the engines came to life. They were already pulling over the merchant ship behind him by the time he reached the cabin. 

It was certainly strange how they were so suspicious. He suspected that the only reason he hadn't been held up for longer was because the _Damascus_ looked perfectly harmless. And, in a way, that was true. His ship had practically no weapons – it was built for maneuverability and long distance travel, not warfare. They most likely didn't see him as a threat. _I suppose I got off pretty easily_, Domingo felt a scowl cross his face. He couldn't help but wonder if he should be insulted or not. _Well…maybe they've been like this for a while._ After all, he hadn't exactly been up on the news, so…

The pony-tailed explorer got hailed three more times before Nasrad came into sight. By the time he spotted the golden spires of the rebuilt palace, he was wondering why he'd chosen to go out "exploring" instead of just taking the frying pan like a man. _It's too late to turn around_, Domingo shook his head in irritation, reaching up and pushing his square goggles further back. His hair seemed to want to get in his face and he wore the goggles to keep his bangs from poking his eyes out. _Might as well see if I can find out what in the Moons is going on around here._ Nasr's capital had almost completely recovered from the brutal attack by Valua long ago: it had once again returned to being a center of commerce. He probably wouldn't have a problem finding out whatever new had turned up.

Domingo managed to find an open space at the docks, sparing himself a long wait: stepping out of the confines of his ship for the first time in a week, the limber man was considerably surprised to see just how crowded the city's harbor was. Around him, sailors were bustling about the area, throwing ropes down from the decks, unloading various cargo. Though the air was hot, it wasn't as stifling as he'd expected it to be – for a moment, he loitered about the docks, just taking in the different exotic scents in the warm desert air. Even through the city walls he could hear the voices from the bazaar.  
  
Domingo made his way toward the entrance, passing under the giant marble arch – the market place had spilled out toward the harbors and he was instantly assaulted by a flurry of voices:

"Sir, sir! Come, I have the finest rugs in all of Nasr!"

"Kabal Skewers! Fresh from Esperanza!"

"Fruits! Vegetables!"  
  
Domingo entered Nasrad. It was, unsurprisingly, busy. He was a bit puzzled that there weren't any Dhabu running around – the last time he'd been here, after the whole Soltis thing, Dhabu had been imported from Maramba in large numbers. But he couldn't see any now. Their absence was a little strange, and, he began to notice, the activity in the fountain-fed square seemed tense. Conversation was muted and expectant: it wasn't immediately noticeable, not at first. _Something definitely is up._ Domingo wove his way toward through the crowds, trying to move quickly. He didn't really want to stay here that long – he hadn't intended to stop in the first place. As his destination came into sight – a two-story building that housed a bar – he shouldered his shapeless satchel over his shoulder. 

Domingo let himself into the room, letting his eyes adjust to the change in lighting. He hadn't been to this place in a while, and he was a bit astonished to see that the owner had remodeled quite a bit of his establishment. If anything, he'd expanded the bar in order to accommodate the customers seated at the tables and the counter. _Looks like it's pretty crowded_. Domingo nodded to the bartender as he strolled in – they were on relatively good terms and he was pleased to see that the other man hadn't changed at all. Ramar still had that we're-doomed expression on his tanned face, a constant expression of sorrow half hidden under his hazel beard. The bartender wiped his callused hands on his apron as the younger man sauntered in: 

"Long time no see, Ramar."

A rueful smile crossed the man's face under his mustache. "Domingo! It's been a while since you've frequented this place. What can I get you?"  
  
"Surprise me."

"I'll get you the new stuff then," Ramar chuckled. Domingo took a seat at the bar, folding gloved hands as the older man began filling a small glass from a bottle. "So, how's life treating you? Still wandering around?"

"Not really," Domingo heaved a dramatic sigh. "I just got unofficially kicked out of Polly's Place."

"Unofficially?"

"Same thing as last time. Polly threatened to brain me again." Domingo accepted the mug, glancing at the other patrons with curiosity. They were mostly men, sailors and merchants from the docks huddled in groups. He didn't miss the suspicious looks they were exchanging between groups. _I wonder what's going on?_ _Something_ was up, he was starting to figure _that_ out. "I decided to hightail it out of there for a while. Lay low for a while and hope she forgets about this whole thing."

"If I remember correctly, it took her three months before she let you back the first time." Ramar said dryly. 

"You don't have to remind me."

"So I don't suppose you came to Nasr just because you wanted my fine company," Ramar said. A sardonic snort as he watched the pony-tailed explorer tilt his head back, tossing down half of the murky, umber alcohol. In the past, Domingo had appeared sporadically in Nasrad – the bartender wasn't at all sure just how he'd gotten past the patrols guarding the South Dannel Strait before Valua had made its attack – and had come and gone, as if unable to stay in one spot for longer than a few days. "So what brings you here?"

Domingo licked his lips, shrugging carelessly. "Nothing, really. In fact, I wasn't really planning on making a stop here, but I got pulled over by these guys with all these cannons." His hazel eyes were puzzled. "I'm still wondering what's the deal."

"Oh…." Ramar's face darkened for a moment and he lowered his voice unconsciously, forcing the younger man to lean toward him. "They didn't always used to patrol the Straits like that. After that Valua was destroyed, they were only there to escort people through and make sure no monsters wandered in –"

Domingo rolled his hands, trying to get Ramar to hurry up – this was all stuff he already knew. 

"You still don't have any patience, do you?"

"Since when did I have any?"

"Well, I was getting to it. As I was saying…" the bearded owner of the bar glared at Domingo, as if stopping the inevitable interruption before it could even start, "These measures weren't as…ah…drastic as they might seem to you now. In fact, they weren't even asking for cargo or identification – as long as you weren't a Black Pirate, they'd let you through. You probably noticed that there's no livestock here." Ramar said suddenly, eyebrows rising over limpid brown eyes. 

"I was wondering what happened with all those Dhabu…"  
  
"They started baring all live animals from the city a few months ago. Well, except for a few pets – anything that had been here before that whole….rising continent thing – a lot of imported animals, such as the Dhabu, were slaughtered and burned. The patrols always ask if a ship is carrying livestock of any kind." Ramar shook his head. "If you _were_ carrying livestock, they would've boarded you and driven them off into the sky. If you'd resisted, they'd probably pump a few rounds from their cannons into your hull as a warning. Livestock are mostly prohibited now, except for a few suppliers whose cargo passes the new regulations. And even those merchants have to go through all the paperwork."

"Sounds kinda harsh."

"It's for the good of the city. I suppose such measures are always harsh."

Domingo took another sip of loqua, "So why?"

"One of the animals came with some sort of strange disease. It killed some people before they could establish a quarantine." Ramar made a face, tugging at his mustache. "The authorities haven't been able to discover just what exactly carried it, so they've just barred everything to be safe. Everyone's concerned about it, naturally, but a lot of us think they're taking it far too seriously."

Domingo finished his glass. "Sounds like it. So everyone's all terrified about contracting this illness?"

"Yeah. It's starting to drive away a great deal of business. We're already required to visit the local physician every week – we have to have their seals with our papers, if asked to produce them. Bad for business," Ramar repeated. 

"That certainly explains the hostility," Domingo snorted, handing the empty loqua to the tall bartender. He began cleaning it. "They were aiming this nasty anti-ship cannon at me the whole time."

"I suspect that they'll see that it was just a rare occurrence sooner or later. I'm sure they'll drop these drastic measures after a while. I fear that they might just start banning imports altogether. It's starting to get ridiculous."

"If there's anything I can do to help you out, just ask. I'm heading north-east."

Ramar paused: he was seriously considering the other's words. A snap of his fingers as the bartender suddenly remembered something. "Well, you _could_ help me out, actually. I've a few barrels of aged loqua that need delivering…"

"Where to?" _Ergh…hope it's not some far-off place like Yafutoma… _He couldn't help but wonder if he'd made a mistake volunteering himself so quickly. It was true that he didn't mind helping a friend out, but he didn't really want to go out of his way for deliveries. For starters, there was the matter of fuel…and also the fact that he was still a bit miffed about the whole Sailors' Island thing: if he went wandering about, he was concerned that he might actually prove Polly right, that maybe he _did_ need to get out. _I'm not about to give her the excuse to say "I told you so"…_

"It's pretty close, don't worry about it. Y'know Crescent Isle? The village there? I was supposed to ship the loqua there, but with all the confusion with this quarantine, I haven't had a chance to get out."

"…It's pretty much on my way." Domingo got to his feet, with his cocky trademark grin. "Sure, I'll deliver them for you. Just have them loaded onto the _Damascus_ by tonight and I'll be on my way."

A laugh. "They'll be loaded before then. My thanks. I'll be sure to repay you somehow for this."

  
  
_ It'd _better_ be worth this_. Domingo scowled at the compass. The compass was oblivious to the expression, continuing blithely to point northeast. With a frown, the tall adventurer glanced back out the window, wondering just what had possessed him to volunteer himself for this. It had been several hours since he'd left Nasrian airspace and he was thoroughly frustrated. The loqua barrels were sloshing about in the cargo hold and he could swear that he could actually hear the things dribbling all over his ship. Not only that, but the perpetual storm above Valua decided to extend a tendril in his direction. Lightning flicked across the dark ceiling of forming clouds, white lightning spider-webbing across the black sky seconds before the booming thunder followed.  
  
_ In fact, he'd better have a good price for this_. Especially if something unpleasant happened, like lightning hitting the _Damascus_. Domingo was sure he was heading in the right direction, but with the all the gloom, it was getting hard to tell. _It'd better be worth this._  
  
Rain was starting to patter down on the deck, sliding greasy wet trails down the windows. Visibility was dropping and it wouldn't be long before the winds would start to pick up. The problem with Valuan storms was that they weren't at all like those elsewhere in the world. They were far more unpredictable. _Maybe I should find a small island and see if I can drop anchor._ It depended on how the weather turned out. He'd die of embarrassment if it only lasted a few minutes, and that he'd drop anchor only to find that he was practically on top of Crescent Isle. 

_I must be pretty close._ Domingo had taken into account that he would have to turn just beyond Nasrad, and he'd made this trip hundreds of time on the _Delphinus_ a year previous. By now, he would've thought that navigating would be the least of his problems. But it was difficult to distinguish the small islands littering the sky from the rain splattering onto the windows. They were all starting to look alike, every damned thing. Domingo could feel the claws of an irritated headache approach as he stood at the helm of the _Damascus_. 

Despite the wind, the _Damascus_ made progress – he was farther than he'd thought and he would've gone right past the dark hulking shape of Crescent Isle if he hadn't seen a fleeting gleam of light to the port-side. A start. _A will 'o wisp?_ No, that was just superstition – and they were nowhere near the area with the…. 

_No…it's a moonstone._ Venturing the _Damascus_ in for a closer look, he could see that it was a blue moonstone, set in an elevated alcove of carved granite. He raised an eyebrow: rather clever. The moonstone, considering its large size, was acting as a sort of beacon and the blue properties were actually making it easier to navigate, the wind dying down slightly as he pulled in closer. Rather thoughtful of Vyse, Domingo thought to himself sardonically. Of course he didn't want lost merchants to be running into the island. So maybe it was just practicality.

Domingo was pleased to see that the small island had made some expansions (finally). There was a larger dock now – for visitors, he supposed – and even through the gloom, he could see that there were more buildings situated about the plaza. _About time he did some remodeling_. He nudged the small ship toward the empty docks, breathing a sigh of relief as the hull scrapped against it and soon came to rest. Anchoring the _Damascus_, Domingo stepped out onto the decks. Immediately, he was sprayed with rain. 

_Great…just great_. This wasn't going to be fun. Pulling his goggles down from their customary perch on his forehead and over his eyes, the nineteen year-old stalked down from the docks, leaning forward against the whipping winds – the area of protection from the blue moonstone was intended only to extend to the docks, not toward the rock-solid buildings past the decline, it seemed. The short tails of his orange overcoat were furiously flapping about as he descended – his long pony-tail was being a general nuisance, strands of black hair plastering themselves to the glass of his goggles as he moved. 

To his surprise, a lone figure waited for him near the island's small bay. The other man was shielding a lantern with his hand, watching Domingo approach. Striding down the slope, bent forward, he shouted a greeting through the slashing rain as soon he thought he was within hearing distance:

"_Hey_!" Domingo quickly fought his way through the biting winds onto level ground. The waiting man said nothing in reply to his greeting, "I'm Domingo. Where's Vyse?"

More silence. Domingo raised an eyebrow as the other simply turned around and wound his way silently through the gray buildings. _What the _hell_ was that?_ Domingo certainly didn't know. Either the guy was a complete ass or he had some damned good reason for brushing the young explorer off like that. It wasn't much of a welcome. At least it was a comfort to know that he'd been expected. The welcoming party could've been better though, Domingo decided, following the other man at length. Something about the stranger looked vaguely familiar – the explorer must have seen him _somewhere_ – but he was too annoyed and soaked to try to remember the details.

Passing under the arch of an overpass, Domingo was led into the plaza. Wordlessly, his guide lifted his lantern and bowed his head, examining a latch. Domingo caught a glimpse of faint scar running down his pale cheek (he could've sworn he'd seen that before) as he came to a stop behind the taller form. 

"Is Vyse even here?" Domingo asked sourly.

The scarred man shrugged, voice low and almost inaudible in the patter of rain on the pavement. 

"Yes," and Domingo's guide couldn't be prodded to say anything further, instead flatly turning his back on him. The latch finally opened and the door to the elevator swung open. Without waiting, the lantern bearer stepped on. 

Where _did_ Vyse pick up these people? Domingo wondered. He hurried into the lift, frowning. The least the stranger could've learned was common courtesy. The rain continued to slash down as the elevator creaked up the cliff-side. His guide said nothing as the lift came to a stop, only motioning silently toward the heavy wooden door at the end of the wooden catwalk. Muttering a caustic "thanks", the raven-haired explorer stepped off the heavy elevator, leaving the other man standing alone. 

For some reason, Domingo was actually looking forward to seeing Vyse. But then again, any company was better than the one he had just left.

"Oh, _thanks_. I see how it is," Vyse attempted to look put-out. "I'm wondering if I should be flattered or not."

Domingo, lounged comfortably against the window sill, grinned. "Hey, I like to be around people with a little life to them, y'know?"

The captain only shook his head, chuckling. He didn't appear all too different from the last time Domingo had seen him. A slight difference in hair, maybe – it looked slightly longer, wind-swept – but that was about it. The same glass sky seer eye-patch, the same charming grin, the same boyish enthusiasm. Moons, even the same clothes. Well, that might be exaggerating. But Vyse hadn't changed much since then. At the moment, Vyse was fiddling with a weathered quill, flipping it deftly between his long fingers as he stared across the table at the lanky explorer. 

"He's a good helmsman. He was on the _Delphinus_, remember?"

Domingo tried to rack his brain. Yes, he _had_ seen that creep before, but other than that, he was coming up with nothing. You would think a dark, scarred, and altogether unnerving man would be more memorable…

"Lawrence."

Domingo stared as recognition dawned at the name. "You serious? The guy who was always hanging around Sailor's Island?"

Vyse nodded. "Yeah. That's Lawrence. Not really much of a talker, but I don't think he's too bad. He just…keeps to himself."

Domingo heaved a dramatic sigh, swinging his goggles lazily by the band. "You're not much of a social creature, Vyse. You don't understand." With a quick motion, he snapped the square goggles back onto his head. "Hey, how many of the original crew're still here?"

Vyse thought about it. "A lot went home after the whole…Zelos-thing. I'm guess maybe…" he did a mental count in his head. "Six are still left."

"…Don't you miss it?" 

The Blue Rogue blinked at the sudden question. "Miss what? The sailing?"

Well, that wasn't exactly what Domingo meant, but it was close enough. He nodded. Vyse was silent for a few seconds, brushing away shaggy brown bangs from his eyes as he focused on something beyond the raven-haired explorer. Biting his lip, Vyse gave a sheepish smile. 

"Yeah, I guess I do. I mean, sure, we practically had the entire Empire after us. And we did hit some rough spots, not just with the Armada," Vyse set down the quill. "But it was really fun. Something most people don't get to experience in their life." 

"You're telling me," Domingo muttered. 

For a long moment, the two men were lost in thought. Domingo stared at his hands: it was almost depressing (well, it was probably easier for Vyse to shake off, since nothing seemed to faze _him_), to think that maybe that had been "It". That it had been The Big Adventure every kid, at some point, must've dreamt about. Domingo could barely remember his childhood, but he remembered the sense of wonder he had felt the first time he had set foot on the deck of a ship, then the exhilaration experienced when he'd made his first discovery. He had been addicted then – his desire to unveil the unknown, to discover, to do things no one else had, fueled him. For a while, he had been unstoppable as an explorer…

Vyse coughed, clearing the silence. 

"Well…at least you're not stuck with all this paperwork," Vyse chuckled, making a face at the clutter of letters and forms sitting on his desk.

"I'm still trying to figure out why a pirate has to mess with that."

Vyse grimaced. "I wish I knew. Dad never told me he had all this stuff to do – I always wondered why he spent all that time in his office." The Blue Rogue got to his feet, rounding his desk. Reaching back into a basket of fruit, he tossed the explorer an orange. Domingo caught it deftly and returned the lop-sided grin. "Why don't you stay the night?"

"My room still there?" 

Vyse rolled his eyes. "No, I had it converted to the crew's dining quarters."

Domingo only laughed, concentrating on peeling the orange. 

"I hope I'm not prying, but where're you going? Or is the question more of why you're out here?"

"Moons, it's a _long_ story, Vyse…"

"So let me get this straight," Vyse said at length, groggily. "The only reason you're sitting in my office right now is because Polly kicked you out?"

Domingo nodded. His story had taken surprisingly longer than he'd expected: between his commentary and side-tracking, and Vyse's questions, it had taken them into the early hours of the morning. In fact, thinking back sleepily back onto it, most of it hadn't been even about how he'd gotten to Crescent Isle. He couldn't remember the last time he had sat down with Vyse and just _talked_. The last time he'd had an extended discussion with Vyse, it had been about the Dark Rift when they had first gone through, about his own concerns and what courses of action were available in that lonely, eerie graveyard.

Vyse, resting his chin on his crossed arms, regarded the explorer with an amused expression. "Basically you have no idea where you're going."

"Nope," Domingo yawned. 

"Why am I not surprised?" Vyse couldn't help but follow Domingo's example, yawning as well. "Don't answer that."

Domingo lounged back against his seat, closing his eyes. It wasn't very comfortable, but he'd slept in worse. He was sorely tempted to just go to sleep right where he was, but it would probably look rather strange if he waltzed out in the later hours of the morning from Vyse's office, disheveled. He supposed he should probably be making his way to his quarters – but that would require him standing up and he figured he was too lazy to bother. Another yawn. 

"We'll do what we can to help you; you'll have to tell me in detail what you need tomorrow – " Vyse paused, squinting at the mantel clock not far away. He corrected himself. "- later today. How's that sound?"

"Fine with me."

Domingo said his good-byes – the two men exchanged parting words before Domingo left Vyse's office. It was still dark out since dawn was still a long way off. The rain had lessened to a drizzle, the warm kind that made one even more sleepy. The spring kind. Stumbling slightly, groping about for the guard rail, he felt his way along the catwalk, eyes half-lidded. His quarters were on ground-level, which meant he had to go locate the blasted elevator.

It had been a while since he'd slept in an actual bed. But then again, he'd spent longer than a week out sailing the skies before – he supposed he'd grown soft over the past year and the explorer couldn't help but feel almost appalled. Before, he hadn't ever looked forward to sleeping, since there was so much to do, so little time. And now, not long after, he was actually looking forward to collapsing in his firm bed located in the crew's quarters. It was downright ridiculous.

Maybe Polly was right…

Not paying attention where he was going, Domingo reached out expectantly for the railing. His hand closed over thin air. 

Suddenly startled awake, he was horrified to find he was already starting to tip over – even in the meager red light of the moon, he could see the ground, several stories below. For a second, he had begun to tilt into free-fall. 

A strong hand suddenly grabbed at his wrist and roughly pulled him away from the drop, and back toward the safety of the catwalk. He stumbled, still shocked, into his rescuer's chest. For a long moment, Domingo was frozen against the other man, all too aware of how he'd just narrowed avoided a nasty drop. If whoever had pulled him away hadn't been watching him, hadn't been there, or had missed...he would've certainly broken _something_, if not his neck. A breathless thank-you bubbling up, Domingo looked up to identify who his rescuer was. 

Lawrence's scarred face stared down at him, his expression one of faint disdain. He still held Domingo's thin wrist. 

Domingo's face flushed in a mixture of embarrassment and irritation. Muttering a "thanks" that was more irritable then he intended, he pulled away from the helmsman as if stung. Lawrence, expression unchanged, released his gloved wrist slowly. His face still red, Domingo brushed past and hurried away to the waiting elevator. He was being more than a little rude, but, despite his near-miss, all he could think of was his own stupidity – and how Lawrence was probably laughing at him. 

Hopefully his marvelous display of "grace" wouldn't be brought up to anyone. He already had a shaky reputation as it was. 

Thankfully, his reputation – shaky as it was – hadn't been further damaged. Getting up and leaving the crew's quarters, there had been no strange looks. Aika hadn't mentioned it when she had randomly run up to him and practically tackled him in a bear hug, squealing how it had been "so long" and that "he had to come back and join the crew". Vyse, when Domingo had met up with him, didn't seem aware of anything. And Lawrence, despite their brief run-in last night, was satisfied to completely ignore him.

A good night's sleep had done wonders for Domingo. Waking up in a different bed had been pleasant and he felt less lethargic than he had at Sailor's Island only a few days ago. In fact, feeling unnaturally cheerful, he even offered to help Vyse's crew unload the barrels of loqua from the _Damascus_. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. But now he was feeling considerably less generous as his back and arms protested under the weight of the heavy barrels. 

Luckily it didn't take long. Domingo joined the remaining crew for drinks as they rested. He hadn't enjoyed the work, but it hadn't felt bad to be out and doing things again. A mental correction: well, it was alright. Nothing to give Polly any more incentive to shake her head at him with that same "I told you so" look. Domingo would be damned if he was going to roll over that easily to the woman. Even he had more pride than that.

He'd wandered off a bit toward the small pond, sipping his glass of water, when Vyse joined him. The Blue Rogue had helped out with the loading himself, and now was missing his eye-patch and his outer tunic. 

"Thanks for going out of your way for that delivery."

Domingo snorted. "I wasn't really going anywhere."

"Well, still. You know what I meant." Vyse glanced back at the main group. They were still laughing and talking amongst themselves. "So now what?"

Domingo blinked and glanced, startled, at the other man. "What?"

"Now what're you going to do?" Vyse asked again. 

Trust Vyse to be this blunt. The explorer scowled. He supposed it was one of Vyse's many charms but right now it was a charm he could do without. 

"I don't know. I wasn't exactly thinking about it when Polly chased me out of her tavern."

Vyse ignored his sarcasm. "Well, I don't know if you want to stay here or not. We're not really busy so it might get boring real fast…"

Domingo sighed. If he stayed here, he'd probably just return back to the same state he'd been in on Sailors Island. Except this time instead of Polly kicking him out, it would be Vyse and he honestly didn't want Vyse of all people to be scolding him for being a baby. It was bad enough when those words came from Polly. He shook his head at Vyse's offer. No, he couldn't stay. But neither did he know what to do. Things had been a whole lot easier when he'd had a goal.

"I'll pass. I was thinking of leaving today anyway," Domingo said.

Vyse nodded. "Well, we'll make sure your ship is ready. If Polly kicked you out, you're probably going to be out for a while."

A dry laugh. "Don't remind me."

"So you don't have a crew?"

Domingo finished his remaining drink with a gulp. "No. The _Damascus_ isn't big enough for a full crew. It's basically just me."

Vyse nodded. If Domingo had bothered to look, he would have seen the gears turning in the Blue Rogue's head. But he didn't and so he was blissfully unaware of the idea forming. It wouldn't be good for Domingo to be traveling alone at this point, Vyse decided. He'd pick someone from his crew who would be helpful and expendable in his services. Vyse himself was a decent enough helmsman, so…of course. He knew who he could send with Domingo.

After a while the conversation turned to idle small-talk. Vyse eventually excused himself, saying that he'd have all the preparations for Domingo's departure finished in a few hours. Domingo went back to his quarters and waited. He didn't want to admit it, but this wasn't too bad. 

That feeling was about to change, however.

"Vyse, _no_."

"Look, it's stupid to go by yourself."

"I did it before I met you guys. I don't want any more people on the _Damascus_ other than myself."

"You're just being stubborn!"

"So are you!"

The two men glowered at each other. It was nearing late afternoon, the sun glowing golden in a way that would have been rather beautiful had anyone been paying attention to it. But all attention was drawn to the growing argument at the dock near the Damascus. Vyse stood with his arms crossed over his chest, Domingo with fists planted on his hips. Both wore matching expressions of ire as a small crowd grew to watch the clashing personalities. The cause of the argument stood just behind Vyse silently.

Domingo shook his head, flicking a stare at Lawrence. "For the last _time_, I don't need a helmsman."

"He's one of the best and you know it."

Well, he couldn't really refute that, but he was damned if he was going to give up without a fight. He changed the subject. "I _always_ travel alone. That's just the way I do things."

"Yeah, and what if you get attacked while you're out there? Who's going to watch your back?"

"It's not like I don't know how to take care of myself, Vyse."

The Blue Rogue rolled his eyes. He knew that Domingo had "Angler", a large gun that required both hands to use it, but he'd never seen him actually use it. And besides, Domingo was just being difficult. It was obvious that having more help could never hurt. And if this was what Domingo had been acting like back at Sailor's Island, he could see why Polly had kicked him out. If this was what a year of inactivity did to Domingo… well, even he would've probably gotten sick of it. 

"Look, he already agreed. And I paid any fees he'd ask of you, so you might as well. He's a much better helmsman than you and he's practically free since I covered the costs for you.." 

Lawrence met the explorer's stare without a change in expression. Domingo looked very much like one who had tasted something sour. He scowled but he said nothing in immediate reply. How could you argue with that? He didn't want another person onboard, especially not Lawrence, but it was a losing argument and prolonging it any further only made him look more and more foolish, especially when Vyse was resorting to that cursed logic.

"…Fine. Whatever, Vyse. But for the record, this wasn't my idea," he turned and stormed up the gangplank onto the Damascus's deck. Lawrence followed without a word.  
  
Vyse watched as the small ship began to pull away from Crescent Isle. Domingo wouldn't like it, but this was probably for the better. And who knew? Maybe it would be something new for Lawrence. With just the two of them, the normally taciturn helmsman might open up.

_Well, that might be hoping too much. I better just hope they don't kill each other_.

Turning, Vyse went back down the hill.  


To be continued...   


Um...I'm going to be probably jumping from Domingo's POV to Lawrence's. I don't really know where this is going, so I'm basically just winging it. I realized that Domingo doesn't really have a weapon, so now he's got a shotgun. Oo; And he's cranky because he's been pretty much out of a job for a year, so...yeah. oo Anyway, I'll just be updating when I can get around to it, but my main focus is going to be Digital Shuffle. ^^; 

- Famira Damaris/Camille Vidan 


	3. Setting Down Rules

**Windstorm**   
By Famira Damaris

**Disclaime**r: Nope, don't own Skies of Arcadia.  
**Author's Note**: Anyway, I'll keep this short. This isn't a fanfic devoted to Vyse, Aika or Fina. It's probably one of the few (only?) based on Domingo. Anyway, possible slash later. Mostly plot. Takes place about a year and half after the events of the game – I'm assuming that the world of Skies of Arcadia is much bigger than portrayed, so…er...new lands. . Centered around Domingo and Lawrence. cackles

Uh...yeah, this update is super late, since I update whenever the hell I feel like it. Anyway, things to look out for: Domingo's sets down the rules and he sets them down as they should be. Even if it means doing stupid things in the aftermath of a pirate attack.

_Italics_ for thoughts, sounds, emphasis  
**Archive**: I highly doubt anyone would ask, but sure, go ahead. Just ask.

==========  
Windstorm  
==========

[Setting Down Rules]

For as long as he could remember, Domingo had sworn to himself that he wouldn't let himself be pushed around. Not by anyone; not when he was a free spirit. Of course, that was before Vyse stepped into his life. Most men were swayed by Vyse's charismatic smile and Domingo wasn't any different. Acting as part of Vyse's crew had made Domingo particularly easy prey to Vyse's quirky little "gifts".

In this case, a sullen helmsman, who, Domingo swore, was giving him the evil eye right now.

_ Moons,_ Domingo grumbled mentally. It wasn't just his imagination – Lawrence really _was_ giving him the evil eye. The purple-clad mercenary had found a crate once he went onto the _Damascus_ and sat himself down on it promptly even as they began to leave the island. Domingo had ignored him at first and taken the helm. But as the minutes passed into the first uneventful hour, he was aware of the quiet glower on his back. Finally getting tired of that – and a spectacular view of nothing but a sea of clouds – Domingo turned impatiently:

"Look, what's the problem? Are you going to sit there all day or something?"

Lawrence shrugged. "Well, I got paid for a specific job and that was acting as your helmsman."

"And that requires you sitting around?"

"I can't do my job if you're doing it," Lawrence said mildly.

Domingo found his cheeks burning red at this. He wasn't going to be made a fool on his own ship. Turning quickly back toward the helm, he stared forward, trying to regain his composure. He didn't have to put up with this when he was traveling by himself, "You can take command of it later. Go patrol the deck or something."

Lawrence silently got up and left without another word of argument. Domingo sighed. Was his whole trip going to be like this? Just a matter of awkward silences and little smart remarks? Domingo glared at the view of the shifting sea of white wisps beyond the _Damascus__'s_ prow. His fingers tightened around the smooth wood of the helm. Domingo normally counted himself as an easy-going man; it took a lot to anger him. But one of the things he valued above all was his privacy. Despite however much of an extrovert he appeared, his time alone meant a lot to him. Take that away from him and you had a very cranky Domingo.

He would've put up with anyone else from Vyse's crew; honestly, he would've. But Lawrence…dammit, the mercenary just rubbed him the wrong way. It felt like he was intruding, a noiseless shadow that had a habit of creeping up on him. It just bothered him to no end.

_ Still, I don't have a choice._ Vyse had already paid for Lawrence's fees, which was rather generous considering the fact that the taciturn mercenary had hiked them up recently. Dumping Lawrence at the next port Domingo came to wasn't an option. Neither was just running back to Polly, not when that frying pan threat was still up in the air. _This _always_ happens when I let myself get pushed around._

Domingo blamed Polly above all others. If she hadn't chased him out in the first place, he wouldn't have gotten pushed around by Ramar into that favor, by Vyse into taking Lawrence as his helmsman.

_ I swear, once this is all over, I'm going to go on a real vacation. Alone. Without anyone to tell me what _they_ think's good for me…_

Elsewhere, Lawrence leaned against the railings of the _Damascus_, staring out at the sky..

He'd finished his patrol in a matter of minutes; it hadn't been hard to finish that quickly, considering just how small Domingo's ship was. It was little more than a boat – although Lawrence knew that the explorer would probably get all in his face if he dared to call it _that_. The size alone made it hard for Lawrence to keep busy and he'd even gone out of his way to appear so. He'd even scrapped off a few of the sky barnacles that'd attached themselves to the weathered hull with a small knife before giving up on that.

First, it wasn't in his contract to be doing anything aside from being the _Damascus_'s helmsman. Technically he didn't have to do anything aside from that particular duty. Second, he'd damaged his knife on the last sky barnacle, which was really the last straw. Why damage his possessions if he wasn't even getting paid for that task? He probably couldn't expect to be reimbursed for the useless knife either. Wonderful.

So now he had nothing to do. Again. Lawrence stared out at the sea, wondering how to occupy himself.

Soft white puffs of cloud surrounded the small wooden ship in an unending expanse. A brisk breeze danced along the sides of the rails. Far off in the distance, the mercenary could spot the gleaming slivers of color swimming a few thousand feet above the _Damascus_. Probably a school of sardis, since they weren't flying at any extreme altitudes. Too far to tell without a telescope. Looking back, he could still see Crescent Isle in the distance, although it was little more than a black little splotch on the horizon at this point. For some reason, Lawrence found himself wishing that he could just turn the ship around and return.

It wasn't like this was a difficult job; on the contrary, it was almost ridiculously easy. There was no Valuan armada pursuing them, no Dark Rift threatening to tear the ship apart. In fact, this was probably the easiest job he'd had in a long time.

So why did he suddenly want to hurry up and finish it? This was a good deal; very little amount of work for a rather hefty sum.

Lawrence propped his chin in the palm of one gloved hand, staring out at the sea of clouds. He'd read the fine print of the contract that Vyse had presented to him: he was essentially stuck with Domingo until the explorer himself stated in specific terms otherwise. Of course Vyse hadn't told Domingo that and he trusted Lawrence to do the same. Considering how much Vyse gave him as incentive, there was no reason why he shouldn't keep his mouth shut.

Lawrence wasn't blind. He knew Domingo disliked him and that was fine. A lot of people did. This wasn't something out of the ordinary after all. But mercenary attitude or not, Lawrence finished the job he started. It was really too bad that Domingo was the one who really had the final say in everything – and he didn't even know it. Trust Vyse to pull something like that. Why exactly the Blue Rogue bothered was beyond Lawrence; he'd just taken the money without blinking. Still didn't mean he had to like it. But then again, it didn't matter if he liked it or not in the first place.

The sun was starting to near the mid-noon mark, judging from the way it was starting to hit the clouds. The fleecy white was quickly becoming a harsh sheet that blinded the eyes. Since he hadn't brought any tinted goggles with him, he decided it was time to go back inside. He stepped inside the cabin, past the narrow corridor lined with hung tools and rope and into the room he'd just left. Domingo hadn't moved yet from the helm.

"Huh, you're back," Domingo grunted. He turned away from the wheel, crossing his arms over his chest. "Okay, I figure we're stuck together, right?"

"That's the general idea," Lawrence shrugged.

"Well, I have some rules when you're on my ship. You're going to obey them since on my ship, I'm practically king."

"Fine."

"First: if I want to be at the helm, don't argue. My ship, my rules. Second, we all pull our weight around here. I know you're probably just signed up as a helmsman only, but you still have to help me with chores unless you want me pitching you over the side. Basically check up on the engines, stuff like that. Make sure it's not making any weird noises. Third, we _do_ have to eat so we'll switch off every now and then on whose cooking. Got that?"

Lawrence raised an eyebrow. "I don't cook."

"I don't either. So long as it's remotely edible, I can handle it."

"Those terms are…acceptable," Lawrence said. He stepped up to the helm as Domingo headed down toward the stairs leading to the lower deck. "Anything else I should be aware of?"

"Don't go into my room and don't put in any holes in my ship."

Lawrence turned back to the helm as Domingo's voice drifted down the stairs. Like he'd bother to snoop. And he was one of the finest helmsmen in Arcadia; it was insulting to think he'd actually damage the _Damascus_. Even during against multiple Valuan warships, he'd faired well and he'd never sunk a ship he'd helmed in his entire career. But the mercenary bit his growing indignation back. He'd had worse employers and they'd asked for more, for far worse. But then again, he hadn't ever had to work with a former crewmate before. Especially one that he wasn't sure if he could tolerate or not.

_ I'm being paid well_, Lawrence reminded himself for what was the tenth time today. He couldn't expect a job to only have perks. _…I wonder if this ship has any weapons?_

-------------------------

It was nearing night before they had made any real progress – the _Damascus_ had continued up north from Crescent Isle and a few hours ago they passed Daccat's Island. Like all good sailors, Lawrence held his breath as he passed the dark blob in the dusk light. The old superstition was that Daccat's Island (among several other locations) was still haunted by the ghosts of the pirates who'd died there. If you breathed while passing such a place, it was generally believed that one of the pirates would see you with your mouth open and, taking that as open invitation, would jump right in, therefore possessing you. Not that Lawrence actually believed that those old tales, but it was hard to drop a habit once you picked it up.

After Daccat's Island, there wasn't really a whole lot of landmarks to rely on. Lawrence glanced over at the steel compass sitting next to the helm, against the glass of the window. Still north, although the needle was starting to lean north-west. The _Damascus_ sailed forward at a leisurely speed of a few knots. By now, the yellow moon was starting to rise, casting the world in a faint amber glow. Outside the mercenary could see the lower clouds turning a violet tinge as the sun fully sank out of view.

Behind him, he heard a sound. Domingo had come and gone a few times since the last time they'd talked. Now he was back and bearing two trays, each with a wooden spoon and a steaming bowl.

"Again, I never said I could cook. But I've been eating my cooking for years and I haven't died yet, so I figure it's safe."

Lawrence nodded and took the tray, leaning on a stack of crates against the wall. The mercenary prodded the food with the spoon for a moment, inspecting it. It looked like some kind of gray-blue porridge, with thick lumps of meat and loaded down with vegetables. But it didn't smell like any porridge he'd ever eaten before. He tasted a spoonful of it experimentally, watching as Domingo did the same from where he'd sat down on the only chair in the cabin. It didn't taste horrible, but it wasn't good either. Bordering on tasteless, although it left an unpleasant aftertaste. Still, food was food.

Lawrence finished the bowl and set it aside before he spoke up.

"So where're we headed?"

Domingo spoke around his food, carved spoon still in his mouth, "Don't know, don't care. I just can't go back to Sailors' Island."

"So we're just wandering?"

"Pretty much."

"Without any particular destination?"

"Nope."

_ Great. I'm getting paid to wander._ Lawrence glanced out the window – purple clouds in the distance, and beyond that, a dark smudge far off that was probably still part of Valua's mainland. They were going to hit the minor reefs in the morning at their moderate pace, but after that, there was several places they could go from there. But Lawrence could see it was going to be frustrating working with Domingo's methods; especially when he didn't seem to have anything whatsoever planned out.

"I guess we need to figure out a destination some time soon," Lawrence turned back to Domingo. "I need to know where I'm going."

Domingo scowled. "Look, I don't _know_ yet. You'll know when I know - "

It was then that there was suddenly a flash of color. Domingo rocketed to his feet, the luckily-empty bowl clattering onto the wood floor and rolling to a stop harmlessly. Something was sailing over the _Damascus_ as he crowded near the window with Lawrence not far behind him. It was like a tiny comet flying overhead, leaving a smoking yellow trail that crackled after the brilliantly glowing sphere. A moment of dumb staring before recognition hit.

Yellow moonstone flares. Domingo's jaw dropped:

"Someone's firing flares at me!" Domingo exploded. He whirled from the helm. His eyes narrowed. "They think I'm just going to pull over because they're shooting up my nose!"

He bristled as another yellow flare crackled overhead, fizzled, dropped closer this time toward the ship's prow. Domingo huffed at this and reached into one of the compartments built into the cabin's wall. Lawrence glanced out through one of the port windows:

"Can't tell if it's a Blue Rogue or not from their flags. Too dark to tell. But they've got their cannons out. We're too far to make use of any windfall from Valua and as far as I know, there're no major air currents we can reach."

"So we can't cut and run?"

"It's doubtful."  
  
"You sound awfully concerned," Domingo said sarcastically. Lawrence had to admit he was impressed when he caught a glimpse of the compartment the explorer had just opened: a rack of different weapons had been hidden by a back panel that he'd pushed aside, dumping maps on the floor. Rows of small flintlock pistols, a three sabers, a small horde of knives of assorted lengths and makes, two scimitars, one with a red moonstone in its hilt, a cutlass, an anti-ship cannon and one large, strangely built rifle.

But upon closer inspection, Lawrence could see that few of the weapons in the miniature arsenal were in good shape. Their best bet was the anti-ship cannon, but it looked so ancient that he doubted it would even fire. In fact, the firing wick was missing. The flintlocks were dusty and he couldn't see if they even had ammunition. From the way they were arranged, they might as well be for show. The two sabers were chipped and badly needed to be sharpened. One of the scimitars was in the same shape. The cutlass looked in better condition, along with the rifle. The knives were too small to really bother with.

"If they're Blue Rogues, they're not going to start shooting for no reason," Domingo said. "But if they're not…well, I don't want them on _my_ ship."

"You don't have cannons?" Lawrence asked, for once incredulous.

Domingo picked up the rifle, holding it out and staring down Angler's sights as another flare fizzled past the window, casting the room in a harsh yellow glow, "Are you _kidding_? I haven't had cannons since my last ship went down and I decided to stick to running. I didn't think Black Pirates – assuming we're _not_ dealing with Blue Rogues – would attack us so close to Crescent Isle."

Lawrence glanced out the window again. The dark, angular shape of the larger ship trailing after them had closed the distance by a few yards. He could actually see the crew scurrying about the deck like little ants under the stars.

Domingo glanced at the weapons. "Most of this stuff is junk I was planning to sell. Don't know what you prefer to use."

"Cutlass but I left it in our quarters."

"No time to get it. Here," Domingo held out the cutlass. As an afterthought, he added the jeweled scimitar. "Take these."

Lawrence accepted them after another glance out the port window. The cannons were definitely pointed at the _Damascus_ but they weren't firing. Definitely not a Blue Rogue ship – the sails were pure black, flapping in the wind. "I can see their flags – black ones. They're not firing."

" 'Course not. They can see I don't have cannons. And if they fire, we go down in a glorious fireball of flaming death with whatever loot they think I have; they know that this ship's too small to take any round of sustained fire. They're probably going to try to board us rather than risk anything."

Domingo finished his preparations, stuffing extra ammunition for his large rifle into his array of pouches at his hip. He reached over and punched one of the switches next to the helm. The _Damascus_ jolted as more moonstone energy was fed to the engines and it jumped in speed, the violet clouds speeding past the hull like rushing water. Lawrence nearly lost his footing at the sudden jerk. Domingo braced himself. But the Black Pirate ship responded by increasing her speed as well.

"Gonna try to hit the reefs; this's the _Damascus__'s_ top speed, so we need about a couple of hours until we hit them."

"Do you even have anything valuable on your ship?"

"Ha! I _wish_ – I would be dumping it overboard right now so they could chase it down to the lower altitudes," Domingo automatically ducked as there was an explosion to their starboard side. Rolling thunder rocked the night air. A puff of thick smoke erupted just ahead of the ship and came billowing past, "Okay, _now_ they're shooting at us."

_ Trying to slow us down_. Lawrence hefted the cutlass. Good balance. Not as refined as his own weapon, but it'd work. The Black Pirates had to know what Domingo's plan was – they'd get boarded pretty soon. The _Damascus_ was practically leaping through the sky, racing forward through the waves of clouds. At this speed, the Black Pirates' vessel probably couldn't keep up by the time they reached the reefs, although she was certainly trying. But that was assuming they wouldn't be boarding before then.

Glints of silver were arcing in the air even as he eyed the larger ship. Grappling hooks, followed by lengths of reinforcing wire to make the passage between ships safer. Domingo muttered an impressive epithet as he slammed the compartment shut and stalked out of the cabin. Lawrence followed. The explorer jammed the heavy door closed and locked it. He locked all the doors in the narrow corridor before leading the way up to the deck. The wind had increased drastically since Lawrence had been last up there.

"There's only one way into the rest of the _Damascus_!" Domingo shouted over the whistling wind. He jerked a thumb back at the door he'd left open behind them – it'd give them so place to retreat to, but in a fight, there wouldn't be time to unlock the doors. "Okay, I'm going to try to take out their hooks, so cover me!"

Lawrence nodded and headed toward the closest of the grabbling hooks imbedded into the _Damascus_.

The first of the pirates was already making his way between the two creaking ships, easily straddling the swaying wires. Behind him, Domingo turned and aimed toward the Black Pirates' vessel. Most ships big enough to have automated grappling hooks used machines to propel them, but they were still man-powered. He'd have to find the man responsible and take him down. Domingo didn't like killing, but he liked being killed even less. So it was when, staring into the sight of the rifle, he found the first man at the grapple-machine's pump, he pulled on the trigger without hesitation. The first shot missed because Angler's sight was off, but he managed to readjust before the shadow at the pump could duck or realize what direction the shot had come from.

The second shot dropped him. Without a man operating the machine's pump, the reinforcing wires slackened and the make-shift "bridge" between ships suddenly jerked violently. The pirates clung onto the supports as one of the cables fell off from the _Damascus_ and drifted under the Black Pirate's vessel, no more than a silver thread. Lawrence succeeded in sawing through one of the ropes and the bridge teetered again, dipped drunkenly to the side as Domingo's ship started to pull forcefully ahead.

Lawrence was there to meet the first man across the bridge. A shot ran out overhead and suddenly the pirate, grimacing, clutched his shoulder and tumbled backward over the railing and into the lower altitudes of the sky. Lawrence glanced over his shoulder to hiss that he could take care of these just fine, but Domingo was already pointing that oversized rifle of his back at the enemy ship.

_ When we get out of this, I'm asking for a bonus_, Lawrence vowed as the second pirate evaded his slash and scampered onto the deck. A _big_ bonus, the darkly-haired mercenary decided as the bearded opponent weaved around his next slash and met his third with a clash of steel against steel. _I didn't get paid to fight scum like this._

Lawrence swung around with the scimitar and caught the hapless pirate in the side. Dropping the scimitar, the mercenary hurriedly grabbed hold of the other's grimy shirt and pitched him over the side without remorse. A low wail that quickly trailed off as the wounded man disappeared through the clouds. Lawrence set back to work sawing at another of the large cables but had to pull back before the next man came across the bridge.

Domingo had begun picking off the unfortunates still within range of Angler, but he had to duck back into the doorway behind him when they started firing back at him. Giving up on sniping at the enemy ship, he began focusing on covering Lawrence's back. He could still see the bridge stretched out taut between the Black Pirates' ship that was starting to fall behind. A shot rang out and one of the men clinging onto the cables dropped into the night.

But more were starting to swarm over and he couldn't pick them all off. And that was before the small canister fell from the enemy ship's direction and began spewing a foul gray gas after rolling to a stop near the door. Coughing, lungs burning, Domingo scrambled out. A few shots exploded far too close to him for comfort – luckily for him, the gas cloud that drove him out from his hiding place was also making it difficult for the other sharpshooters to get a fix on him. He had to hurry up and help Lawrence.

Lawrence was too busy fending off two of the boarding party to finish sawing at the main rope. Removing the dagger from his belt, Domingo began sawing ferociously at the rope, cursing its thickness, cursing the fact that he hadn't brought a bigger blade and cursing all pirates in existence and wishing he could kick them all down to Deep Sky. _In fact, I'm going to kill Polly after all this_, he decided irately. The smoke cloud was drifting over from the cabin, but the shots from the pirates were beginning to get too close for his liking.

Domingo managed to get more than half way through the main rope tethering the two ships together. The _Damascus_ strained forward, engines humming through the deck. The air was alive with gunfire, the awful smell of the gas, the creaking of the two ships, jeering shouts from the pirates across the sky and the sharp clangs of swords against one another. In fact, throughout the chaos erupting around him, it took the explorer a long moment to realize when he'd actually been shot.

It wasn't like he hadn't heard it. A roar closer than all the others. But he'd focused so much on his work that he hadn't realized immediately that he was starting to bleed from his thigh. Pain began blossoming out from the wound as blood did the same through his brown trousers. Distracted, the explorer almost stopped cutting at the main tether. He'd only been shot once before and that'd been an accident, when he'd been a kid. Somehow he didn't remember it hurting so damn _much_. His vision began to whirl sickeningly but he attacked the ropes with more energy than before.

If he looked down at the wound again, he probably was going to either pass out like an idiot or throw up. Both of which weren't particularly appealing scenarios.

To his right he heard the sound of someone dropping heavily to the deck with a thud. Hoping that it hadn't been Lawrence, he continued to saw at the tether but his fingers were fumbling clumsily and he almost dropped the knife.

Footsteps behind him.

Someone's hand covered his and helped Domingo cut through the last bits of the rope.

The _Damascus_ bucked again as the main cable slithered away; the force of the smaller ship lunging forward snapped the remaining cables, sending them whipping about every which way and tossing sailors left and right. Domingo fell backward onto his rear as his ship fled from the Black Pirates. Finally. His ship wouldn't have any problems navigating the reef. Watching as the _Damascus_ began to pull merrily away from the ebony vessel, he tried to lever himself up to his legs. Someone had to unlock the doors so Lawrence could go back and do that stupid job that Domingo could do on his own, except Vyse had to be a meddling idiot and try to play matchmaker, not that he liked Lawrence in _that_ way, but…

Well, assuming he _liked_ guys, which was really up in the air considering that fact that his romantic relations were pretty much nonexistent despite whatever rumors Polly and Amelia were spreading...

His legs trembled but held, although the wounded one was screaming in agony whenever he put weight on it. Domingo caught Lawrence staring with mild concern at him, but he just tried to shoo the mercenary away. _Probably checking me out or something…Moons, this _hurts_, dammit._ Stupid Vyse. Stupid Black Pirates. Stupid Lawrence, stupid Amelia and stupid Polly for getting him shot. He hadn't ever gotten shot when he'd moped around in the safety of Sailor's Island…

"You're not gettin' paid to stare," Domingo gritted through clenched teeth to Lawrence, one gloved hand pressed down on his thigh.

"Where's the key?"

"Keep your pants on, I'll…I'll get them," Domingo reached and felt about his pockets. It seemed to take a long time to find it since he apparently forgot where he put the thing. That and what with his vision tunneling in and out to annoy him, it wasn't fun. "..Here."

He held out the key. But his vision blacked out for a second and he realized, startled, that Lawrence had suddenly materialized in front of him since then. Frowning in irritation, Domingo handed the tall mercenary his key. Satisfied with that, Domingo hobbled over to the cabin's entrance and sat himself down against its outer wall. It'd take a decade for Lawrence to open up all those doors. He didn't want to wait for him to get to the bandages or whatever they were called or something since those stupid, thrice-damned pirates had made his cabin interior smell like an interesting mix of wet huskra and rotten eggs.

He wasn't aware that Lawrence was kneeling before him and shaking his shoulder until his vision suddenly swam back into focus for a brief second.

"Stop shakin' me…I'm not a dog!"

"You can't just sit out here."

"…I can damn well sit out here if I want to," Domingo muttered. "Leave me alone. Jus' go downstairs…get the aid kit thing."

"You're not sitting out here and bleeding all over the place."

"I'm not bleedin' all over my ship. Don't tell me what I'm doin'. I _know_ what I'm doin'…" Domingo trailed off, intending to take a nap but Lawrence kept being a jerk and shaking him like he was some child's toy. "…Stop feelin' me up, I'm fine!"

"Get _up_. You're not staying out here while those pirates're still behind us."

"I can do whatever I want, Lawrence," Domingo tried to glare. "…_My_ rules, remember?... If I wanna pass out right here, I can. 'Cause it's my ship an' not yours so my rules an' _I_ say I wanna pass out here."

"You're not passing out here, dammit."

"Yes I am," Domingo said and promptly passed out.

**  
**

**  
To be continued**  
------------------------- Whoo plot. Had to throw in some dorky references. If you caught the Spaceballs reference, you get a cookie. Of air. Yep. Congrats. Anyway, I write this on and off so...yeah, I update whenever. ; And plot comes before slash, so...yep. Might do some SoA fanart later. 


	4. The Narrow Escape

**Windstorm**   
By Famira Damaris

**Disclaime**r: Nope, don't own Skies of Arcadia.  
**Author's Note**: Anyway, I'll keep this short. This isn't a fanfic devoted to Vyse, Aika or Fina. It's probably one of the few (only?) based on Domingo. Anyway, possible slash later. Mostly plot. Takes place about a year and half after the events of the game – I'm assuming that the world of Skies of Arcadia is much bigger than portrayed, so…er...new lands . Centered around Domingo and Lawrence.

EXTREMELY late update, but again, I update this sporadically, which means I don't write on a schedule, sorry._  
_

_Italics_ for thoughts, sounds, emphasis  
**Archive**: I highly doubt anyone would ask, but sure, go ahead. Just ask.

-------------------------

Windstorm  
-------------------------

(The Narrow Escape)

Lawrence watched with exasperation as Domingo passed out right where he sat. The explorer's eyes rolled back and he slumped forward. Blood stained his brown trousers a slowly growing black splotch from where he'd been shot by the Black Pirates. This just kept getting better and better, the mercenary scowled. A quick glance over his shoulder. The enemy ship was still behind them and slowly losing ground as the _Damascus_ sped away. Still, too close for comfort, especially since no one was at the helm and the distance between the two wasn't closing fast enough for Lawrence's taste.

Her sails crackling as they unfurled fully, the Black Pirate ship was doing her best to give chase.

Promising to deal with Domingo as soon as he could, Lawrence hurried into the hall leading to the cabin. Smoke from earlier still clung to the wooden paneling and he had to mask his face from the cloying smell with a gloved hand. Unlocking the cabin door, Lawrence forced it open. Off in the distance he could see a haziness peppered with darker patches that could only be the reef. Still a few hours before they could expect to reach it.

Suddenly the ship shook. He was thrown, hard, against the wall. Cannon-fire began to erupt around the _Damascus_, puffs of thick black smoke breezing past its prow.

His first instinct was to dive toward the helm and start taking evasive action. But Domingo was still out there. Vyse hadn't paid him to let the other man die while he was still under contract. While Domingo wasn't really in any danger with his wound, he could still be hit by a stray shot from their pursuers or some other hazard that came flying their way. Hoping that Domingo had been right earlier – that the pirates weren't ever going to shoot to sink – Lawrence turned and rushed back the way he came. It was a war-zone outside. Deafening thunder rolled from pursuing ship's chase guns, followed by the strange smell of sulfur of the yellow-moonstone cannonballs they were using.

Lawrence knelt by Domingo and tried to figure out how to get the unconscious man inside quickly. Dragging him in wasn't really a good idea since it'd just aggravate his leg. At least Domingo had the mind _not_ to pass out when he'd first been shot. Lawrence didn't even want to waste time thinking about what would've happened if he had. The mercenary managed to get Domingo slung over his shoulder after a struggle. Domingo wasn't that light, despite however skinny he appeared, and Lawrence almost lost his balance when the unresponsive explorer began to slide off.

Satisfied that he wasn't going to end up dropping Domingo into Deep Sky, Lawrence headed back into the deck. Domingo's dead weight really wasn't helping but he managed to get the both of them back into the cabin. Depositing the unconscious man onto the floor carefully, Lawrence hurriedly cast a Sacri spell. He hadn't ever learned anything more advanced than something simple, but that would have to do. At least he managed to slow the bleeding. That would have to hold until he found time to make a proper bandage, and see if the bullet was still in Domingo's thigh. _Can't believe I'm doing this. This was supposed to be an easy job…_

Ignoring the thunder booming around him and flashes of acid-yellow through the smoke from the explosions around the _Damascus_, Lawrence checked on Domingo's condition. The explorer's face was drawn in pain, normally tan skin pale, but he was breathing strongly. The bleeding had slowed as the green glow of the Sacri spell faded away. _Good._

Lawrence took the helm, checking on all the controls. The _Damascus_ was far slower than the _Delphinus_ – his last real job – but because of its small size, evasion should be easier, even if they hit him with one of those spell shots. If they were going to shoot at him, they better damn well work at it.

The _Damascus_ abruptly tilted upward. For a moment, the explosions were under him as Lawrence kept ascending as sharply as he could. The Black Pirate ship behind him was probably struggling to do the same. No point in making this easy for them. He suddenly pulled to the starboard side, and the _Damascus_ weaved. The round from the enemy's chase guns missed by a long shot and he kept up the aerial dance. The _Damascus_ leapt up, only to curve suddenly to the side and ascend again, gray sails fluttering in the wind.

Lawrence really wished Domingo had cannons. Anything. While the mercenary was pretty sure he could keep evading the Black Pirates by the time they got to the reef, it would have been nice to actually have _something_ to toss back at these bilge rats. Still, this was exactly what he was paid to do and he wasn't about to let a few worthless Black Pirates ruin his well-earned reputation.

Luckily for him, Lawrence was a better helmsman than whoever was manning the enemy's cannons. Unluckily, he had at least an hour, if not more, to be dodging the potshots from behind, sloppily aimed or not.

---------------------------

Eink Soola considered himself a man of luck. After all, you had to have a certain amount of luck to make it as a traveling merchant. Storms could dash your frail ship to pieces, innocent winds could easily betray you and tear you into splinters, both Blue Rogues and Black Pirates could rob you blind. And that was before even taking into account the fact that your wares might be too highly priced or simply not sought after. But there was nothing more glamorous than sailing and selling and doing both at the same time. Eink Soola was determined to be good at one if not the other unless he could suddenly be good at both, which he wasn't.

Sometimes sailor blood seemed to bubble in his veins and on those days, the middle-aged man found himself testing nature by making his little ship dive and twist and dance in ways it simply wasn't meant to. But on other days, that blood froze over and the merchant one took command. On these days, Eink sold a lot, but seemed to run into every floating rock, coral or whatnot that would put gaping holes in his ship. So a good deal of his money ended up just keeping his business afloat – if at times literally – and it was a miracle he actually made any profit at all. But that was really all part of his luck, so it wasn't worth wondering too much about.

Today wasn't one of his sailor days. Eink knew this because he happened upon a caravan of small ships passing from old-Valua; probably refugees relocating or something. He sold a lot of food supplies and weaponry, even bartered a bit and gained a few new wares that would sell handsomely elsewhere. Today was a good profit-day. That meant that some accident was surely on the way, but his merchant blood had made so much money since the last one that he wasn't too worried.

"Good luck on your travels!" Eink called. He waved to the last of the little yachts as it puttered away, a big grin on his face. It dropped as he turned away.

Wandering back into his quarters, the merchant began to idly count his profits. Definitely a good haul. Better than most, if he had to say so himself. With this, he could make repairs to his ship and have plenty left over. An hour passed into the other comfortably. Eink finished counting his profit and wandered back onto the deck, wondering where he should travel to next, stroking at a corner of his fledgling mustache. With a sigh of content, Eink lit his small tobacco pipe, gazing out across the clouds. He decided he was perfectly happy with his lot in life.

That was before he noticed the gray-sailed ship careening toward him.

The pipe dropped to the deck with a clatter as he stared, frozen, at the dot in the distance quickly beginning to gain solid shape. It was going everywhere; whoever was at the helm had to be some sort of madman from the way the gray-sailed ship dove and bobbed so erratically. Mad, or heavily intoxicated. Eink's stomach took a flip-flop as he noticed the little puffs exploding around the incoming ship. Something larger was chasing it. Little flashes from what looked like cannons. The merchant squinted his eyes. Pretty bulky build for a ship….

…Black…sails…

_Black Pirates_! And they were coming right this way!

Eyes wide as saucers, Eink forgot his pipe and scrambled back into the cabin. The old engines were idling; his fingers fumbled with the various switches as he sought to bring them back to full power. He wished desperately that he was having a sailor day instead of a merchant day. They were coming right this way and he didn't have any weapons. He had been robbed before by corsairs and it had been hard to recover. An attack on a merchant day and not only would he lose everything onboard, he could also lose his ship!

While the merchant Eink Soola frantically tried to get his little ship coughing back to life, Lawrence had his hands full. They'd managed to hit the _Damascus_ with some sort of shot that slowed the engine reactions down and the distance he'd put between them since their flight was almost back to what it had been an hour or so before. All the ground had pretty much been lost. At least the reefs were in sight.

Lawrence was paying so much attention to evading the yellow Drilnos shots blasting around him that he almost didn't see the merchant yacht in front of him.

The two small ships were heading straight for each other in a collision course. While the merchant's engines were flaring up in an attempt to get out of the way, he wasn't moving fast enough. Lawrence wasn't moving slow enough.

For a long second, Lawrence wondered when he ever got paid to play a giant game of chicken.

Always time for a first.

No time to go all the way around. An idea hit Lawrence. The Black Pirates were practically on top of him. They would have less chance of evading than he did. Waiting until he could see the actual detailing on the merchant ship's hull, Lawrence thrust the _Damascus_ into as deep of a dive as he could. The whole frame shook under the pressure, creaking loudly. His view tilted sharply as there was a flash of golden light right above him – he could see the hull of the merchant's yacht overrun with bolts of energy from a Drilnos spell-shot impacting.

Something cracked and the _Damascus_suddenly bounced down as part of its mast hit the underside of yacht. A snap from above but the gray sails held. As he brought the _Damascus_ back to its previous altitude behind the besieged merchant ship, something hit the deck with a thud. An explosion shook the sky from behind. The reefs were within reach and since there was no more bursting shots from the chase guns behind him, Lawrence guessed it was safe to run out onto deck to take a look.

He paused by the door. The top of the mast had been knocked clean off, parts of it littering the deck. The rest started to lean at an unnatural angle. The sails were still intact but he couldn't expect to keep going at this rate if he didn't want them getting ripped loose. The Black Pirates, attempting to dodge the merchant yacht, had broad-sided it. The pirate and merchant ships were busy limping off in opposite directions. Both had gaping holes as a rain of debris fell. The Black Pirate ship had sprung a cloud of greasy smoke from the largest of her wounds, spurts of violent flames glowing orange even from here.

The pursuit was over.

Entering the cabin and taking up the helm again, Lawrence slowed their speed as they passed the first floating rock. The reef was composed of countless floating rocks similar to that one; he didn't fully understand how they managed to stay in one place without floating off, but what was important was that you always knew where to find such reefs if you had any sailing experience whatsoever. This reef wasn't one of the largest out there – even a ship like Domingo's could pass through safely if the helmsman was careful.

Lawrence waited until he navigated past the last of the floating rocks of the reef before he began to make ready to anchor the ship. Small, uninhabited islands dotted this section of the ocean, clouds breezing past as the lone ship cut through the sky toward the largest one. The mercenary dropped anchor and the _Damascus_ coasted to a stop, the heavy iron chain taut and swaying.

He was going to have to check up on damages eventually. The problem was that it was a two-man job. He'd have to get Domingo back on his feet before he could think of assessing how much damage they'd taken and how much would probably be taken out of his pay. Lawrence ran his fingers through his hair, eyebrows knitting together. He was definitely going to get his pay docked for this. Well, he supposed that the bonus he was going to ask for the extra action would help cover that, so it wasn't _too_ big of a loss.

The mercenary knelt next to Domingo. The other man was still unconscious, face ashen. Lawrence inspected the gunshot wound, touching the explorer's thigh carefully. Looked like the bleeding was starting up again. The Sacri spell had probably worn off and all the action from the pursuit probably made it worse. _Wish someone else was here to deal with this_, Lawrence reflected as he picked up Domingo in his arms. Someone who had better healing magic than he did – he could do battle field dressings, but when push came to shove, his magic skills were severely lacking.

Going carefully down the stairs and into the hold, Lawrence entered Domingo's room. It wasn't as garish as he would've thought, considering the normally flamboyant explorer – in fact, it was downright barren. A few pictures covered the walls as a lone, grated lamp swung gently from the low ceiling. A cot stood in the corner. Nails had been hammered into it to keep it from sliding around. Across from the cot was a table – also nailed down – and a chair. The only real source of color was the heap of clothing Domingo had left lying in the center.

Kicking the little mess aside, the mercenary put Domingo on the bed. It'd been a while since he'd had to treat any gunshot wounds. _When was the last time I even did this? _Before his first job with Vyse, probably. Fina and Polly had been the ones responsible with the health of the crew. Now that he thought about it, Lawrence hadn't touched even a roll of gauze since then. Not exactly good, but he had to at least try to bandage up that leg. Lawrence really hoped that the bullet wasn't still lodged in Domingo's thigh, because he honestly didn't think he'd be able to do anything about that.

Retrieving a bowl of hot water, he went to work locating the first aid kit. _Domingo said it's somewhere around here._ Like the cabin, the explorer had compartments built into the walls all over the room. The mercenary pulled open the first one – just some clothing of different colors. The second one was just a bar of used soap and a toothbrush in an empty glass. The third was locked, so he went onto the next. The fourth try was a success and he set the wooden case onto the table and dragged the chair over to Domingo's bedside.

_Okay. Let's see if I remember this…_

Sitting down next to Domingo, Lawrence did his best to apply some field dressings, dabbing away the blood with a damp cloth. A real doctor would probably laugh him off the ship, but it would hold until they reached a port or something. Soon he was as finished as he could be, and Domingo settled into the depths of sleep once more, face still ashen.

Lawrence in the meanwhile busied himself aboard the little air ship: it was true that a full acessment of the damages took two men, but he might as well do what he could. He double and tripled-checked the integrity of the _Damascus_, even going so far as to dangling himself off the railing and checking the hole in the hull that was the remainder of one of the Drilnos shots. There wasn't much he could do besides nail a few spare wooden boards across it. It was a rather spectacular hole, and the mercenary knew Domingo would throw a just as spectacular fit once he found out about it. With only a rope around his waist keeping him floating above the sea of clouds, swaying slightly in the chill breeze, Lawrence realized that he hadn't this much action in well…quite a while.

He didn't like it, but it had made things noticeably less boring, which was a slight improvement.

The mercenary finished with the improvised repairs as evening approached. Hauling his slim body up and over the railing, he gazed out into the distance, squinting as he quickly accessed the situation. If they were where he thought they were, there should be a small port within a few hours of sailing – even if they were currently crippled from the narrow escape from the Black Pirates.

It would probably be a peaceful trip – that was, until Domingo woke up and found new holes in his precious _Damascus_.

---------------------------

"_WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DID YOU DO TO MY SHIP_?" Domingo cried for the second time, as if still unable to believe the news. He seemed torn between glaring daggers at the helmsman and wincing in pain from the gunshot. "Just how big is this damn hole?"

Lawrence remained from his position up against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.

"Least six feet in length, maybe four in width."

Domingo made a strange sort of strangled moan and buried his face in his hands.

"I made rudimentary repairs," said Lawrence, completely oblivious to the other man's misery. "We'll hold at least until we get to the next port, at any rate. That should be within the next hour or so. They can make proper repairs there."

Domingo's head snapped up. "They'd better," Domingo muttered with more than a little bitterness. "Which port?"

"Vista de la Mar," Lawrence replied. When he saw Domingo's blank expression, he added, "It's fairly new. They built it last year; I believe you had made permanent residence at Polly's bar by then."

"Wonderful," Domingo said. "You put holes in my ship and we're taking her to a port that might not even be able to give her the repairs she needs."

Lawrence felt a sudden flare of impatience rise in him. He had done _more_ than his job's worth just saving the two of their necks and this irritating man couldn't even see the bigger picture here. They were both alive, the ship was in (mostly) one piece – he hadn't told him yet about the mast – and they were going to actually manage to limp into Vista de la Mar's port. That, it seemed to Lawrence, was a display of incredible luck so far.

"There's no use complaining about it," he said coolly.

Domingo had a few choice words to say about that and none of them were particularly pleasant. Lawrence waited until Domingo's impressive string of colorful curses died down before speaking again.

"The damage is done," Lawrence ignored Domingo's sarcastic snort. "We should be concerned with the repairs to the ship and healing that wound of yours."

"I can't believe those bastards actually _shot_ me!" Domingo looked positively offended at this, trying to act like the pain from his leg was nothing. He fooled no one. "I only wish I was awake to see them hit that merchant ship – you telling it does it no justice."

"I'm sorry I'm not much of a storyteller," said Lawrence dryly.

"Did they at least sink?"

"I'm pretty sure they didn't."

"_Dammit_," Domingo breathed, disappointed.

"They did look like they were in trouble though."

"Were they now?"

"Well, they _were_ on fire."

"I _hope_ they burned down!" Domingo said savagely.

Lawrence felt the beginnings of a rare smile tugging at the edges of his lips. He fought it down. As amusing as it was to see Domingo sitting propped upright with several pillows, arms crossed petulantly over his chest, expression bordering dangerously close to being a pout, he had to remind himself that they still weren't out of the danger zone yet. He'd breathe much more openly once they were docked at Vista del la Mar. Paranoid, perhaps, but paranoia had gotten Lawrence this far and if there was anything he shared in common with Domingo, it was the fact that they both very much wanted to stay alive for as long as they could.

He only hoped they had their fill of Black Pirates, at least until they got to Vista de la Mar.

---------------------------

After Lawrence left to return to the helm, Domingo tried to find ways to busy himself. Now that the other man was gone, he let himself relax against the cot's pillow, feeling spent and very, very tired. Downright _exhausted_. His leg was positively killing him and there was no chance of him catching any sleep with it like that. He tried rummaging through the maps Lawrence had left on the cot, but after a while gave up. With a sigh, Domingo picked up one of the books left behind half buried under the dirty clothing near the head of the cot. It was one of the oldest on his ship, thick, dog-eared, with pages yellowed with age and speckled with tiny flecks of mold, one of the prices of carrying books at sea.

_Legends of the Twenty Seas: Myths, Legends, Folklore and Fact_, the title page read.

Domingo almost smiled at this. He picked this up in his early days as a younger, naïvely optimistic (albeit just as handsome) explorer and had spent more time chucking it around the ship – sometimes in fits of anger, mostly out of boredom – than actually reading the damn thing. He thought he had pitched it off the bow a few times accidentally, but miraculously the thing seemed to keep coming back. He had completely forgotten about it.

_ I guess I thought back in the day I could use this for finding discoveries_, Domingo thought wistfully. He hadn't read more than a page or so over the past couple of years – he wasn't much of a reader and bored easily back then. Still, bedridden for now, he had nothing better to do. Trying to tell his leg to shut up and stop telling him it was in pain, Domingo opened "_Legends of the Twenty Seas_" and began reading.

He had gradually dozed off on page twenty-four of the introduction when suddenly he was roughly shaken awake. Blinking furiously, black hair sticking up every which way out of his ponytail, he glared blurrily about. Lawrence's unreadable face gazed down at him.

"I'm surprised you're even literate; I've never seen you read before," Lawrence said, picking up the book that slipped from Domingo's fingers. He raised an eyebrow at the faded title. "'_Legends of the __Twenty Seas__'_…?"

"Of course I'm literate," Domingo snapped. "Give it back."

Lawrence handed it back without further comment. Domingo hurriedly stuffed it into one of his pouches. "We've docked at Vista de la Mar," Lawrence announced without preamble. "They won't start repairs until tomorrow – and what are you doing?"

Domingo continued to push himself out of the cot.

"Standing up, what does it look like? I'm not going to be bedridden forever."

"You've only been bedridden one day. That's hardly forever," Lawrence pointed out.

"Shut up, it's forever to me," Domingo retorted. He carefully tested the wounded leg and tottered wildly as it promptly folded under him. Lawrence caught him before he could fall in a heap on the floor. "…cking…pirates…all…go…hell!" Domingo spat between pained grunts as the other man watched him limp around the small cabin.

Domingo hobbled about, throwing open the various cabinets until he came upon one that held what looked like an extremely battered umbrella. It was quite possibly the ugliest thing Lawrence had ever seen, pink with horridly vivid blue trim, little puffs of lace dotting the outdated handle. Domingo shot him a downright deadly look threatening bodily harm if he made so much as one remark about it, and began testing his weight on it, ignoring the smirk on Lawrence's face. Hideous or not, the big umbrella was also strong. Using it as a cane/crutch and leaning heavilg on it, Domingo began limping out of the room and into the cramped hall. Lawrence followed him silently.

"What's Vista de la Mar like?" Domingo said to get his mind off the fire throbbing in his thigh as he made his way up to the deck.

"Small. Trusts trouble to stay away. Everyone knows who's who here and has their noses in business that isn't theirs," Lawrence answered matter-of-factly. "Probably a bit safer security-wise than a port like Esperanza. It's too small to draw any real attention."

Domingo breathed in the crisp ocean air as they climbed up onto the deck. Lawrence locked the doors and handed back the keys as they headed for the dock, the wood swaying gently under the two men's footsteps.

"No welcoming party? Where's the docking official?" Domingo blinked in the light of the lone moonstone lighting the tiny docks.

"I said they were trusting, not smart," Lawrence shrugged. "I believe he already went home after he spoke with me."

"Lucky for them this isn't the Valuan days," said Domingo. "Lax security like this practically has 'Conquer Me' stamped all over the place in big glowing letters."

Limping toward the end of the dock, Domingo was already taking in his surroundings. Vista de la Mar was indeed a small port and he supposed that it probably had a population under two hundred. Even Crescent Isle was larger. This port in particular was dotted with palm trees, standing tall and black in the evening, the road paved with trodden gravel instead of actual stone. The buildings huddled against two steeply sloping hills, protected on both sides with a narrow pass leading deeper into the mainland. He strained to see if there were anti-ship battlements, but he saw nothing in the descending darkness.

Trusting, indeed. Lawrence hadn't been kidding.

"There's only one inn here," Lawrence said. "The rest are recreational places and bars. And homes."

"Sounds fun."

"We're only here for rest, repairs and food. It's not supposed to be 'fun'."

Domingo was sorely tempted to roll his eyes at this, but instead followed Lawrence as he led them down the main avenue of Vista de la Mar. Laughter and chattering voices drifted from open windows through the night air and Domingo could feel the welcoming warmth flooding from several of the open doors. Several times, children would come screaming and giggling across their path, barreling sometimes in packs through the splash of light from the streetlamps. They didn't even spare the two men second glances.

The helmsmen led them to the largest building in the small port-town. Unlike the others, this one had two stories instead of one, and had a great big hand-painted banner nailed above the door stating the inn's name – yet whoever painted it wrote it illegibly and Domingo had no idea what this place was even called. Lawrence marched inside.

A little boy behind a tall table looked up, perched on a tall stool. He boggled at the two men – as if he had never seen them before in his life, which, in fact, he hadn't – and promptly hollered into the next room for his mother. She came rushing in and stopped short, fixing Domingo and Lawrence with the very same expression as her son had.

"This's the inn, right?" Domingo said hesitantly. He had a mortifying image in his head of them barging uninvited into someone's house and getting chased off the premises. Somehow it involved frying pans.

The woman slowly nodded, still looking incredulous. Her son had recovered much more quickly and was currently gawking at Domingo's leg – all the moving around had reopened the wound and it was bleeding through the bandages again.

"How much per night?" Lawrence asked. The boy decided Domingo's bandages were boring and decided Lawrence's scars were much more interesting. The helmsman ignored his open staring. "The cheapest rooms, that is."

"Well," the red-haired woman quickly flipped through the ledger on the table, going to the back of it where there was a list of prices. She rattled off the price of a one-bedroom.

Domingo wanted to wince. That was pricey for such a backwater place such as this, but he supposed it was precisely because they were so backwater that they could charge whatever they wanted. Lawrence didn't even blink as he pulled out the amount from his pockets, counted the gold out and handed it over.

"Where did you get that much money?" Domingo hissed so that only the helmsman could hear him.

"I get paid well," Lawrence replied back quietly. "And you're repaying what I spent here along with interest as soon as this is all over, this isn't charity." Lawrence raised his voice as the inn keeper gave the gold to her son to be locked away. "By the way, do you have any healers here?"

"We have a…well, it's not permanent yet, but we do have a medicine center," the inn keeper replied. "The residing doctor lives further into the mainland though."

"That's all I needed to know," Lawrence said curtly. They followed the inn keeper up the stairs. The short trip up those was hellish and Domingo vowed that one of these days, he was going to hunt down whoever invented stairs and pitch them into Deep Sky for being so downright sadistic. By the time they reached their room, Domingo was in a downright sour mood all over again. He sank gratefully onto the single bed in the tiny room as Lawrence shut the door behind him. Domingo watched as the other man crossed the room, peered out the window for a long time, and eventually closed the curtains, finally satisfied.

They didn't discuss the sleeping arrangements until Domingo limped out of what had to be one of the most painful bathing experiences in his entire life. It was a struggle even dressing himself in the clean clothing Lawrence had stuffed into the traveling pack and he knew he was sweating all over again by the time he finished with the ordeal.

Domingo was working the wet knots out from his long black hair as Lawrence came out of the private bathing facilities, looking exactly the same as he had when he went in. Lawrence immediately began making camp on the wooden floor of the bedroom as Domingo watched in curiosity.

"What're you doing?" he asked finally.

"Getting ready to sleep, which is rather hard to do when you're talking," came Lawrence's voice from the floor.

"On the _floor_?"

"Of course," said Lawrence mildly, as if it was the most blatantly obvious thing in the world.

Domingo thought about this. The idea of sharing a bed with another man was a little strange, (although he would try most _anything_, if sometimes to gain a little bit of notoriety), and while he probably wouldn't have any problem with someone he was somewhat comfortable with, such as Vyse, the idea of doing the same with _Lawrence_ quite frankly gave him the shivers. He could imagine drifting up to sleep and waking up only to see the helmsman's piercing eyes fixed on his. Another shiver. Domingo didn't question Lawrence's decision as he turned down the overhead moonstone. The room darkened in response, lit only dimly by the bedside reading lamp.

An hour passed.

Domingo stared up at the ceiling, hands intertwined across his plain cotton tunic, his dark hair fanning out on the pillow. He had forgotten what it felt like to sleep in a different bed every day, how different it felt to sleep in the ocean and on land. It was…nice. Well, the part with getting shot in the leg was downright horrible, as was the fact the _Damascus_ had been subjected to the attentions of Lawrence and Black Pirates, but, he had to say, it was nice to sleep in a bed that wasn't right over Polly's Tavern. Instead of the drunken shouts and singing of sailors late into the night, he only hear the croaking of bullfrogs in the darkness outside of the inn, as well as the near-silent relaxed breathing that told him his traveling companion had finally fallen asleep.

Feeling in considerably lighter spirits than before, Domingo leaned over (suppressing a pained hiss from the leg) and pulled out "_Legends of the Twenty Seas" _from the pile of his clothing and traveling gear. He flipped to the end of page twenty-four and continued reading. The author was better than he remembered from all those years before. Pausing, he checked the date. It was easier older than he was, which meant the said author was probably long dead. Domingo gave a mental shrug. If this book was as old as the date said, it was more than likely that all those "myths" and "legends" it boasted on the cover had already long since been discovered.

At this point, it was really no better than reading material for killing downtime.

Domingo fell asleep dreaming of moldy old books and strange lands faraway. He dreamt that this book would sell for obscene amounts of money on the marketplace because it was ridiculously old and he'd have enough money to buy Polly's place and kick her out, only she chased him off his own premises with a huge frying pan. Lawrence popped in briefly to give him several evil little death-glares, and he gave a decidedly villainous cackle as he sailed off with the _Damascus_. Domingo then dreamt of a brilliant purple moon and biting cold. "_The Purple Moon_," stated _"Legends of the __Twenty Seas__" _quite wisely, "_shines down on some of the most valuable treasures in our history. So much is frozen within its ice that even if you went there once, you would probably only discover the barest fraction of the secrets it holds. It would take the Greatest Explorer to…"_

Domingo turned over in his sleep, frowning.

_"In fact, it is rumored that there are marvelous ruins buried somewhere under the Purple Moon," continued the book._

_"I already know that. I was there," Domingo said in the dream._

_"Oh! Very well then…very good for you!" said "_Legends of the Twenty Seas_", clearly very put out by this. "Well, let me tell you the story about the Purple Leviathan that was shaped like a…"_

_"…Like a giant whale? Saw it."_

_"What about the giant flying ice-spiders?"_

_"Those too."_

_"Right…right. Well done, my boy! Well done indeed!" said "_Legends of the Twenty Seas_", looking even more put out then before. It suddenly looked cunning. "I bet you haven't seen…" and the book whispered conspiratorially into Domingo's ear. "I thought not. Think of it! An adventure of a lifetime and I can assure you that no one has found any of _that_. Why, you could be the first!"_

But before Domingo could answer, it was already morning and he woke up. He promptly forgot almost every bit of his dreams, although he couldn't help glancing suspiciously at Lawrence, wondering if it was beneath the helmsman to run off with the _Damascus_.

Domingo picked up "Legends of the Twenty Seas" where it had fallen onto the floor and closed it, tossing it carelessly onto the heap of his old clothing.

He had another long day ahead of him to look forward to. 

**  
To be continued**  
------------------------- 

Whew, finally updated. Hopefully will work on the next chapter more. Again, this may/may not be slashy (I haven't decided).  



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